CD: Singing To The Ghosts

Nobody knows where laughter goes,
Still you feel the place it’s not.
A Summer breeze brings no guarantees;
You still say “thanks a lot.”
Today’s grown partly cloudy, tonight’s sure looking blue…
In your heart of hearts, when the music starts,
Nobody knows lonesome like you.

Miss Sunny Day comes out to play;
Hear the angels toss and turn.
Streams overflow, where else they gonna go,
When still water starts to churn?
You can’t say you never saw it comin,’
Can’t make it stop, no matter what you do!
When a shadow falls, and the music stalls,
Nobody knows lonesome like you.

Lonesome used to be just a place on a cloud;
You might have seen it from the windows of your plane.
You might forget it’s even there, when the wheels touch down.
Way out on that cloud, like a queen, you were high above the rain,
Like you were drinking champagne, and wearing your crown.

Sands blow and shift, pile up in a drift,
Seldom draw a second glance;
But you’re off on a boat, wrapped up in a coat,
You’re dazzling, beyond all circumstance!
Summer days used to be so easy; fish are jumpin’ like someone said they do,
But when the curtain drops, and the music stops,
Nobody knows lonesome like you.

Copyright 2015 Steve Edmunds

It was in the Spring, blue Iris blooming,
Almost as blue as the desert sky;
Not as blue as the song I heard that evening,
As deepening shadows gathered nigh.

I was standing ‘round an old tank of water
When I thought I heard a lone voice sing
“Waiting for a train, a thousand miles away from home,”
He sounded like a bird that lost a wing.

Oh, the sting of shame, and the smell of whiskey
Hung in those words that filled my ears,
Those words my drunken father sang to me at night,
Trying to dam an ocean of his own tears.

The engine rolled up to the platform, and I slowly climbed on board,
As a sudden cold front filled the sky with rain.
I swam a flood of memories, and I wondered just what storm
Found me out there, waiting for a train.

Now the road is long, and the turns are many.
Is it just an accident, or some design,
When, from across the years a haunted voice sings out a tune–
And for all I know it’s only mine ?

I was standing ‘round an old tank of water…

By Steve Edmunds
Copyright May 23, 2015

I’m a rolling stone, on a winter’s night,
Muscle, blood, skin and bone, spoiling for a fight;
I’m wild, and I’m lonesome
And I feel like I’m from some other time.

My daddy drank; mama ran around;
I had such a long way to fall I never hit the ground.
I’m wild, and I’m lonesome,
And I feel like I’m from some other time.

It’s a constant sorrow, troublin’ my days,
That’s doused the spark of kindness,
Poisoned the well of praise…
I’m wild, and I’m lonesome,
And I feel like I’m from some other time.

“Some other time” she told me, “some other time” she’d hold me,
“Some other time,” spoken like it was a vow;
Some other time is a long time; some other time is the wrong time,
Some other time that never came, somehow…

Some other time, back in the days of old,
I’m on the dark side of love, and it’s gettin’ cold.
I’m wild, and I’m lonesome,
And I feel like I’m from some other time.

Steer clear of my cotton, better stay out of my corn;
Or you’re gonna wish you’d listened mister, wish you were never born.
I’m wild, and I’m lonesome,
And I feel like I’m from some other time.

Steve Edmunds, copyright April 17, 2015

Takes some rocks and gravel, baby;
Take this hammer, I don’t mean maybe.
Take my whole life, I still can’t pay down any debt I owed…
Give me room to breathe, give me muscle to pull,
Give me wings to fly, when that highway’s full,
Give me blood-red wine; lord, the soul gets thirsty, out on that crooked road.

I’ve been readin’ the tea leaves, I been watchin’ the birds;
There’s so little I could tell you–might be nothin’ but words.
You might slip into the shadows, see your own reflection–might see a soul on fire…
Might be another world, the other side of the lawn,
Don’t tell me I can’t go; I’m already gone.
My daddy said I was a wild one, and he oughta know; he ran it wire to wire…

Rocks and gravel, bread and water;
Will you save the day? Will you lead the slaughter?
Is there somebody standin’ next to me, eyes smilin’ like an angel–
not really who she seems?…
Could be my long-lost sister, maybe somebody from France;
Might be somebody wants to kill me, but she sure could dance!
Maybe in another lifetime, she even slept inside this skin of mine,
walked around in my dreams.

I been in the basement, you know I been out of touch;
I been drinkin’ that red wine, I like it way too much.
Been runnin’ like the devil; hopin’ to make it by a whisker. Ain’t livin’ long like this…
Better call my doctor– say, “doctor, come here quick;
Is there something you can give me ain’t gonna make me sick?
Cause I’ve been hearin voices, somebody breakin’ out inside of me;
can you tell me who it is?”

I’ve seen men, men made out of iron
Who’d jump into a furnace, if you turn on the siren
While somebody’s countin’ money, down at the end of a line, separating us and them…
And I’ve seen women, didn’t have no fear;
I wish some of them women would come by here.
Cause there’s guns inside the churches, there’s blood runnin in the schoolyards,
O little town of Bethlehem…

repeat verse one.

Steve Edmunds
Copyright 5/30/2002

Platinum blonde in a Coupe de Ville,
Sugar-Daddy sleepin’ in the doghouse,
Mama ain’t happy, no, Mama ain’t happy…
He’s been burnin’ his candle on Blueberry Hill,
He’s been shakin’ that sugar in the wrong house,
Mama ain’t happy, no, Mama ain’t happy…
And if Mama ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy…

Spinnin’ your wheels till the sun goes down,
‘Nough to drive anybody to drink,
And Mama ain’t happy, no Mama ain’t happy…
Now all night long you wanna paint the town,
Till you don’t even know how to think,
And Mama ain’t happy, no Mama ain’t happy…
And if Mama ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy…

One child’s got too little to eat,
Another one’s got no shoes,
And Mama ain’t happy, no Mama ain’t happy…
Somebody’s got the system beat,
And somebody’s got the blues,
And Mama ain’t happy, no Mama ain’t happy…
And if Mama ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy…

When the General whispers to the President,
“We lost a lot of good boys today,”
Mama ain’t happy, no, Mama ain’t happy…
And then the President says, “they don’t pay my rent;
What does Wall St. have to say?”
Say Mama ain’t happy, Mama ain’t happy…
And if Mama ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy…

You can bet on trouble, you can pray for rain,
You can count your money twice,
But Mama ain’t happy, no Mama ain’t happy…
It might seem like the whole world’s gone insane,
But you can still get a pretty good price,
And Mama ain’t happy, no Mama ain’t happy…
And if Mama ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy…

copyright May 15, 2004
Steve Edmunds

There’s a blue moon tonight, ‘round my shoulder;
The light glows silver on your skin.
And our heartbeats rhyme, for the millionth time,
Just like the night I felt our love begin.

I could die in your arms, like a fire;
I might call out your name, like a prayer.
I’ve got a home in your eyes, where the wild bird flies,
And I hear the deepest water, running there.

Oh the flowers of the heart are such fine things:
Brilliant as diamonds, fleeting as snow…
O, love, how I bloom, when you come into my room;
And how I fade, each time you turn to go.

They say a rich man sings in the sunshine,
And a poor boy sings in the rain.
I’ll sing like the lark, where the light meets the dark,
When you lie beside me once again.

Steve Edmunds ( copyright August 3, 2004 )

It’s startling and true, that portrait in blue;
I got lost in there, didn’t I, looking at you?
I guess that painter must have had some tricks up her sleeve,
And a pretty good eye, if these eyes don’t deceive…
Sometimes I dream that I’m in there with you.
Sometimes I wonder who’s looking at whom?
In a picture from your days gone by;
There’s so much more than meets the eye.

You were only a child, and the world had gone mad, and wild;
When that world met your hazel eyes, maybe the gods even smiled.
There’s so many paintings, not worth even a dime;
Yet this one carries me through space, and time!
I might stare at it late at night, when it’s too hard to sleep;
It’s been my steadfast companion through the dark and the deep,
Since before the paint was even dry,
There’s so much more than meets the eye.

You’ve still got that look no one ever mistook
For anything ever stamped on a page, in a book.
It’s that light before sunset, when the fire comes through;
It kindled that first flame, when I met you.
Who can remember where this story began?
Who can remember the master plan,
When you’re watching the stars spin by?
There’s so much more than meets the eye.

copyright Steve Edmunds July 19th, 2015

Make your mark, make some trouble, make a few mistakes;
Hit the jackpot, then the skids, never hit the brakes…
Move it out, move it over, move it till it shakes!
When you’re tired of raising hell, you stop, for heaven’s sakes.

Tumblin’ down the mountain, tumblin’, right down to the sea;
Storm all out along this road, storm inside of me…
Ain’t no army, ain’t no jailbreak, ever set me free…
Ain’t no way I’m coming home, way I used to be.

Well, I think I’ll build a sailboat, to sail the waters deep,
Far as the eye can see and then, far as the mind can leap.
Someplace, where the wind runs free, gonna rock this soul to sleep,
Angels ‘round my shoulder, Mary don’t you weep…

There’s finches in the apple boughs, love, plovers by the shore.
If I had wings, like Noah’s dove, I’d fly right to your door.
I’d give you kisses, one, two, three, then I’d give you more…
Keep you here inside my heart love; that’s what hearts are for…

Steve Edmunds
Copyright, February 1, 2007

There’s a hawk over the canyon, as the heat begins to rise;
In the Spanish moss and white oak, bees are singing.
I must have wasted half my life; I’ve got no alibis,
But I still can hear these last sweet hours, ringing.
I can’t recall a day I didn’t long to hear the wind,
Or drink the wine that ripens on this ground.
But these days it might be easier just being thick-skinned,
And it might cost more than you can pay to stick around.

Who am I, California? Son of the Redwood Coast and the chaparral?
Is it just a name, California? Will I be the son of no place at all?

Am I living in a ghost town? Am I talking to the walls?
Is there some other kind of story we could tell?
If another good man’s life goes down, can you hear him, when he falls?
Is there anything you wouldn’t want to sell?
San Juan Bautista! Can you hear me? I’m a pilgrim gone astray;
Can you tell me how this trouble came to pass?
Santa Lucia! My soul is thirsty, and I’ve surely lost my way;
I don’t recognize my own face in the glass…

There’s a crane above the parking lot, as a siren starts to cry.
Voice on the radio says it’s gonna be a hot one.
And I’m stuck in heavy traffic, on a good day to die;
So, if you’re looking for a good excuse, I guess I’ve got one.
Progress sweeps across the land from San Jose to Indio;
They say one of these days I might live until the end of time.
Ah, but there’s nothing new under the sun–no matter where you go,
You’re always gonna find yourself, back at the scene of the crime.

copyright July 26, 2003
Steve Edmunds

It wasn’t at all what I expected;
I scarcely recognized the place.
There was a Magnolia tree I’d never seen before;
Its shadow filled up so much space…
As for the house, seems like someone must have added on
At least a room or two;
What I remember being green,
The years had turned to blue.

Chorus:
Sweet child, goodnight,
May your fondest dreams take flight!
Someday, maybe one of us will get it right…

Hard as I looked for some reminder
That might still mark my presence there,
The old walls held only silence,
The floors seemed not to care;
If tears were shed, if blood was spilled,
I couldn’t find a trace.
Unless you count the look
That must have held my face.

(chorus)

A memory is such a slippery thing,
It’s the shiniest of all the fish;
But oh, the one that got away,
Must surely know my deepest wish.
The moon and stars still mark the trail
The lonesome travellers ride;
As for me, I’m just glad
To find a light on, here, inside…

(chorus: add last line
Someday maybe one of us just might…)

copyright January 22, 2008
Steve Edmunds

There’s no trumpet or drums
When the moment comes,
When September’s breath blows cold;
Feel it tumble and fade,
In a slow cascade,
Of leaves gone red, and gold!
Won’t you button your coat
Tight at the throat,
When that morning ground falls white?
When shadows spread,
From brightness shed,
In swells of gathering night.

In the high, sunny hills
Where a wine press spills
Another year into each cask,
Sunburned hands
That work those lands
Pray it’s not too much to ask.
O the Harvest moon!
How did it come so soon?
How it haunts that midnight sky!
From it’s shivery crest,
O’er the slumbering west,
As years come whistling by.

Through the bones of a flock,
Like an unseen clock
That marks a season’s shift,
A signal flares,
And in thunderous pairs,
All at once, the great wings lift;
And the cry of the brant
As the sun falls slant,
And leaves begin to blow
In a devilish wind,
At Summers’ end,
Is the lonesomest I know.

In a devilish wind, at Summer’s end,
Is the lonesomest I know.

January sunshine, easy on old bones:
“Today might be your lucky day,”
The morning bell entones.
‘Neath a winter sky this blue
Think I could almost reach right through,
And gather stars to give to you;
Shining, precious stones

Broken like a window,
Can’t hold back the rain…
Broken like a thundering wave,
Gonna rise and break again…
Broken like some ancient code,
Can I speak the words that name the road
Where the milk and honey flowed
No grave can e’er contain?…

I’ve been down this road so many times
I could drive it in my sleep…
I’ve suffered plenty for my crimes,
And the company I keep…

Tomorrow’s such a long time,
Clear out beyond the skies…
It’s gonna be a busy day tomorrow;
It’s gonna steal the sleep right from your eyes.
Tonight the perfume of your favorite rose,
That through my mind forever blows,
May be all it truly knows,
That I might not revise…

Little January sunshine, easy, on old bones…

Steve Edmunds copyright December 2011

Sing to me with your body;
Sing to me with your mind
Even when all the lights go down
Sing to me when I’m blind.
With the sound and fury of all your days,
Scarcely a voice that lifts in praise,
I’d take any good news I can find.

CHORUS:

When old men sing, it’s like the rain in the night,
Blowin’ down some dusty back road, just passin through.
Like the dew on the rose, it comes and goes;
Old men sing, what else can they do?

When he’s sleepin he dreams September,
But he’s still tryin to get over June:
The smell of her perfume that haunts his soul,
The spell of a rising moon.
Oh, there’s too many places I’ve gotta be,
And not enough time for this misery–
Baby don’t get me started, we’ll be here all afternoon.

(chorus)

You can beat a full house down in Texas,
Fold on a ten-high straight in Spain,
It’s just the first time somebody calls your bluff
Your laughter might fill up with rain.
I used to chase Lady Luck, but she must’ve had wings.
I don’t know what made me stop; it’s just one of those things.
She looked pretty good from far away, like the wheels on a rolling train.

(chorus)

I could never get used to waiting,
And I just hope I didn’t wait too long.
I tried to catch in words the sound of birds,
Now I know a birdcage is not a song.
I can think about the truth until green turns red,
But I think maybe I’ll just go fishing instead;
I got those fishermen’s blues; think I must’ve had ‘em all along!

(chorus)

Steve Edmunds, copyright 2017